


Silver blaze

by embeer2004



Series: A vampire, his blood-brother and his witcher [10]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Eskel is so going to be adopted into the pack, Gen, Injury, Temporarily blinded, recovering in the home of a vampire pack, rescued and cared for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Eskel was determined to avoid the northern winter and had set off south, knowing he’d eventually end up going to Toussaint, to Geralt. Yet his path was halted in Nazair, by a near-fatal disaster that would teach him to check all his equipment in the future, especially after an archespore contract.
Series: A vampire, his blood-brother and his witcher [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1007844
Comments: 24
Kudos: 106





	Silver blaze

**Author's Note:**

> It’s not necessary to have read all the parts in this series before, though there are some little references here and there to earlier stories (e.g. explaining why the vampires are in Nazair). I’m fairly confident though that you can read this on its own.

Something, no, _someone_ , was touching him. On his neck, his belly… and all of a sudden he was being jostled. The touches continued; on his shoulder… his hip, and then he was rolled around.  
  
The world spun… in at least three directions. Eskel's throat felt numb and tight and he swallowed, feeling a burning all the way down to his stomach.  
  
“Hush,” a low voice said, “you're in a bad state.”  
  
With a shuddering breath, feeling his shoulders protesting at the effort, Eskel curled up as best as he could. He didn’t make it far before something stopped him. He felt like he was being hollowed out by an auger, and the world spun too wild to get a grip on what was up or down.  
  
A whimper escaped his throat and he curled up into an even tighter ball, feeling hot and cold and nauseous and squeezed and…  
  
A cool touch on his forehead, and then it disappeared, but Eskel could sense something hovering over his injured face.  
  
“Burn mark… cuts and bruises,” the voice muttered. Fingers pressed against his abdomen.  
  
"Hnnh!" Eskel's arms flailed and he hunched in on himself, but he was quickly stilled by hands pressing him down. He thought with one more move or squeeze his insides would spill out, like a bruised and overripe banana, though a jerk of his leg conjured up sparks and the image of a snapped stalk.  
  
He couldn't move… _  
_  
Cold burning… stinging pain… _everywhere_ …  
  
“Apologies, witcher,” the voice said. “You need medical aid, I've got a friend who can help.”  
  
Eskel swallowed and breathed harshly through his nose, which twitched and scrunched up as he closed his eyes even tighter; the gritty sting making his eyes water. Feeling a hand slip under his knee, he tensed and raised his left hand towards where the stranger was touching him, fingers held up like a twitching spider, ready to let loose an igni.  
  
“No need for one of your signs,” the voice said, “you are safe.”  
  
A soft stroke just above his injured knee startled Eskel enough that he collapsed into a limp heap, like a puppet released from its strings; too dizzy to keep track of everything going on around him. His hands curled protectively over his belly.  
  
A large hand was carefully nudging at his own hands, moving them just a bit higher, jostling him further until Eskel could feel arms beneath him; under his back and knees and pulling him close until he was held against a cool body.  
  
Gritting his teeth, Eskel tilted his head back, trying to breathe through the sizzling lightning that had settled in his knee. The lightning sent bolts up his legs, all the way to his chest and he _couldn’t breathe_!  
  
He twitched weakly, trying to make his lungs obey, but they wouldn't listen.  
  
“We’ll help you,” was the last thing Eskel heard before an eddy of nausea drowned his senses.  
  
*  
  
“No!” The shout left him and Eskel sat up in a rush. He turned his head left and right, but even with his enhanced eyesight he couldn’t make out the thing that had been touching his face.  
  
“You are safe. We’ve been taking care of you, do you remember?” A calm voice asked.  
  
Shaking his head, _no, he didn’t remember anything,_ Eskel ducked his head and gripped his aching belly as the world pulled at him from all sides. When he lifted a hand to his temple he realised that there was something there, and he felt along it, sensing a soft material. A bandage… covering his eyes.  
  
“Your received quite some damage from whatever explosion you were caught in,” the voice continued. “I’ve done all I can and have administered a salve to speed up the healing. Please keep the bandages in place; they're steeped with the salve and are protecting your eyes from further damage.”  
  
“My eyes…” Eskel rasped out through his parched throat, fear gripping his heart. A blind witcher would be useless. Did the-  
  
“Your eyes will recover just fine,” the voice interrupted, and a hand gently touched his wrist. Long fingers lightly swirled over the skin before there was a slight hitching gasp, and the touch went away. “I’ve managed to wash all the debris out of them, and you’ll be pleased to know that your eyes themselves were undamaged. Your eyelids and the skin around them have suffered the brunt of the damage and the subsequent swelling would prevent you from opening your eyes, were the bandages removed.” A rustling. “But worry not. Barring a few scars on your arms and knee I am confident you will bear no lasting effects from this.”  
  
Eskel reminded himself just in time that it wouldn't be wise to move his head, so instead he just grunted. His heart slowly stopped trying to crawl from his throat at that reassurance and it allowed him to grow calmer and pay more attention to his surroundings.  
  
“I'm afraid your provisions were lost, as there was no sign of any saddlebags on your horse, nor any vials on your belt. As such, I've taken the liberty of giving you doses of one of my own potions, similar to your swallow; a potion that, as Geralt is well aware of, is less damaging to your system. I do hope that he has taught you the recipe for raven?” The voice seemed both fond and frustrated at the same time.  
  
“Geralt? You know him?” Eskel asked, feeling silly for asking right afterwards. Of course this person knew Geralt, or he wouldn't have spoken of him. But how did he know Eskel knew him? For all Eskel knew this could be a trap, make him give away information the other needed.  
  
“Ah, my apologies,” the voice sounded truly apologetic, “I've been remiss in my duties as a host. Let me introduce myself: I am Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, but you may call me Regis.”  
  
Eskel sucked in a breath. The _vampire_. “Regis. The barber surgeon? Geralt's spoken of you.”  
  
“Ah, so you have heard of me! Splendid! Though in truth I already assumed that Geralt would have told you about me, after all, you are like a brother to him.” Regis sounded pleased and… was that pride in his voice? Without his sight, Eskel couldn’t tell for sure.  
  
There were little shuffles, movement near him; sounds that Regis made on purpose, Eskel realised, as the vampire no doubt could be as silent as a shadow if he so wished. A slight creak of wood close to him gave the impression that Regis had sat down next to him.  
  
“Indeed, he has spoken of you. You talked in your delirium, calling for your brothers. Going by that information, the fact that you are a witcher of the wolf school, and the way you match Geralt’s description I'm fairly confident of your identity,” there was a little upward lilt to the man's words. “Eskel, am I correct?”  
  
Feeling dizzy, Eskel woozily listed sideways, but before he could fall in any of the directions he was being pulled there were touches at his shoulder and neck, accompanied by soft-sounding words that he wasn’t actually paying attention to until long after he was lying down, flat on his back. He swallowed down the nausea and gripped the bedding, willing his head to stop spinning. Idly he noticed a light touch on his right leg, and now that his attention had been drawn to it he could feel some sort of brace strapped around it, keeping his leg straight. There was a dull throbbing in his knee.  
  
The mattress was soft though… and the room was pleasantly warm. “That’s my name,” he confirmed.  
  
“Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Eskel, though I wish it had been under better circumstances. Not to sound too intrusive, but as your healer I would like to know if you remember what happened? What is the last thing that you can recall?” _  
_  
Eskel frowned as his thoughts turned inwards, curious himself.  
  
***  
  
When the first signs of autumn had revealed themselves, Eskel had steered Scorpion south. There would be no return to Kaer Morhen this year, or ever again if he had a say in it. Instead, Eskel had decided he would go south, to warmer climes.  
  
He’d passed by Attre first, checking in on Lambert and Keira; surprised but glad that both of them had seemed to have settled in there and had actually made an effort to befriend the locals. Eskel hadn’t stayed too long with them though; he and Lambert had gotten along better over the years, as Eskel had learnt what topics to avoid around the young witcher, but the list was long and his own heart grew heavy as the days darkened and turned colder.  
  
He had ambled along, heading south; taking on contracts from one town to the next, until he found himself passing into Nazair, where the air still smelled of sun and flowers. From here on the plan was to travel east, in the direction of Caravista, and after that he would brave the mountain passes of Sudduth.  
  
Eskel had known he would end up travelling to Toussaint the moment he’d decided to travel south.  
  
He missed Geralt.  
  
He’d been to Toussaint before, once, right after Geralt had settled down with Yennefer. Toussaint… Eskel didn’t understand how Geralt could live in a place like that. There were monsters all over the place, but that wasn’t the problem; monsters were good for business, no: what bothered Eskel were the _people_.  
  
And it wasn’t because the Toussaintois were incredibly fond of gaudy-looking apparel, giving him a headache when he was among them for too long. Nor was it because there seemed to be no sober people in the duchy. Having drunken parties was fine, Eskel was no hypocrite on that front, but still… it should not be a day in day out condition and just the _sight_ and _smell_ of those humans tended to give him an instantaneous hangover.  
  
No…  
  
What bothered Eskel, what he absolutely _hated_ about these people, was that the lot of them had serious issues getting their priorities straight. Valour, honour, compassion, generosity and wisdom. The Toussaintois were so proud of these five chivalric virtues, yet so few of these people lived up to them.  
  
Fancying oneself a knight and prancing about on a horse was sure to provide a nice steady income, being paid by the Ducal Camerlengo, but if true danger arose the knights errant and other wannabe knights were as good as dead. They were utterly useless.  
  
Once, Eskel had joined Geralt on a contract, and that time had been enough to drive a certain amount of revulsion into his heart; the reason he’d truly started disliking these people. What woman could claim she loved her man, when she demanded that he must prove his love of her by slaying a dangerous monster? Just because she wanted some silly shoes made of centipede carapace?   
  
Another time he’d heard a group of women talking in the streets, _bragging_ to each other what they’d asked of their beloved fiancées, and giving each other ideas for even more wild trophies and gifts.  
  
Eskel hated it and he knew that Geralt did too, yet his brother had taken a little part of the world there and set it aside for himself and Yennefer, calling it home. Finally Geralt got to live his dream of a happily ever after, him and Lambert both.  
  
He felt a smile pulling at his face. Not all people here were bad and superficial, he knew that. The man running the shelter in San Sebastian was a good example, and as expected, virtuous people didn’t take to the spotlight: too busy doing actual _good_. Geralt’s household, too, Eskel knew, were decent folk. Barnabas-Basil was calm and patient, a true friend to Geralt, and Marlene was a wonderful woman and a treasure in Geralt’s kitchen; though she’d been punished harshly for her lack of compassion in her previous life.   
  
It seemed that in Toussaint change came slowly, and usually only after dire ultimatums.  
  
Shaking himself from his musings, Eskel finally gave in to the feeling that had been itching away at him, and he steered Scorpion east. It would take him a few weeks to get to Corvo Bianco, especially if he continued to pick up contracts along the route.  
  
He’d just come from a small village near Rhys-Rhun. A woman had paid him a nice sum for dealing with some ‘nasty yellow flowers’, as she’d called them, but the fight with the archespores had left him out of swallow and tawny owl and he’d had to buy some alchemical bases. He’d managed to brew some high quality potions before setting out again. His coin pouch still felt nice and heavy; he’d be able to treat himself to a good meal and a hot bath at the next inn. With all the sweat dripping down his back he certainly craved one.  
  
It was unusually hot this time of year, despite it always being warmer in the south, but Eskel refused to take off his wolf armour. He was no fool, after all. He was more concerned for his companion, but despite his black coat Scorpion seemed to be in his element.  
  
Eskel smiled as he bent over, lightly patting the stallion’s neck. “Good boy,” he murmured quietly, “gonna get you a treat as well next town we’re in.”  
  
Scorpion’s ears tilted back suddenly, stiffly.  
  
That’s when Eskel heard sizzling behind him, coming from his saddlebag. That was never a good sign.  
  
Turning around quickly, Eskel unhooked the bag and searched for the source of the sizzling. He could smell vitriol and the metallic cling of silver: one of his moondust bombs…  
  
He spotted the tiny hole in one of the bombs, and, realising he couldn’t disentangle the bomb quick enough, threw it and his saddlebag as far from him as he could.  
  
It was still too late.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Eskel cursed, feeling an unnatural calm come over him.  
  
And then things all went to hell.  
  
There was a bright flash.  
  
Scorpion reared and bucked Eskel off his back.  
  
A thud… a crack…  
  
And then a roaring heat, pressing him to the ground and slicing his skin.  
  
Scorpion neighing in panic.  
  
_Quen!_  
  
***  
  
Eskel breathed in sharply, realising how lucky he’d been he’d only been carrying a few bombs, and no devil’s puffballs or he’d be dead right now.  
  
“Eskel?” Regis’ quiet voice asked.  
  
Eskel moved his hand towards his chest, feeling only the soft fabric of a shirt, but no bandages underneath. When he moved his hand lower he could feel the heat of the bruises undoubtedly darkening his belly with dark purples and blues. Just how badly had he been injured before? Didn’t Regis say he’d given him raven? Continuing his exploration, he ran his hands down his arms, feeling a bandage here and there.  
  
“I-” Eskel rasped to a halt, trying to lick his dry lips.  
  
“Ah, I see. Careful now, I’m going to lift you so it’s easier to drink some water,” Regis said, and a moment later there was a soft touch beneath his neck and shoulders, and then it felt like the vampire was stuffing some extra pillows behind his back, propping him up. “Can you hold this cup?”  
  
Feeling the wooden cup being offered to him, Eskel had no trouble gripping it, and he eagerly brought it up to his lips, carefully swallowing the liquid inside.  
  
It tasted _divine_.  
  
Licking his lips, glad the sticky feeling was gone inside his mouth, Eskel sagged further into the pillows. They felt nice. He could fall asleep like this, propped into a half reclining position and all…  
  
But not yet.  
  
“Planned to head east,” Eskel said softly, “to Geralt.”  
  
The silence made him think the vampire was nodding at him.  
  
“Archespore contract… just before. Thorn must have pierced one of my moondust bombs. Noticed too late. Silver and sun…” he trailed off, waving his hand, the vibration of his own voice was messing too much with his head.  
  
He could feel Regis taking the empty cup from him and heard it being set on the floor. “Ah, and the explosive mixture those bombs contain were given a little incentive to go off prematurely?”  
  
Eskel snorted. “Tried to prevent worse. Scorpion… _Scorpion_!”  
  
A cool hand touched the light fabric over his chest before he could try to get up. “Your horse is doing well, Eskel. Dettlaff is taking care of him right now and I assure you he suffered nothing beyond a few minor burns and cuts.”  
  
“Dettlaff?” Eskel asked, confused.  
  
“My brother, the one who brought you to me,” Regis explained.  
  
So it hadn’t been Regis who’d found him? Eskel breathed in slowly, focusing deeply on how the air passed through his nose. He remembered the stinging smell of vitriol…  
  
***  
  
His face was burning!  
  
Eskel tried to open his eyes, but something sharp grated at his lids and a stickiness seeped in between them, obscuring what little vision he would have obtained. He tried one more time, more carefully, but the sharp grit and stickiness cut through him, stealing away his breath.  
  
Eskel forced himself to _breathe_. To calm down and just _think_.  
  
_Remember!  
_  
His bombs… all his bombs had gone off…  
  
His provisions were destroyed…  
  
“Scor-p’n!” He called, his tongue feeling way too large for his mouth. Something metal was screeching near his ears, and Eskel couldn’t hear beyond that; couldn’t hear if his horse was still near, or even _alive_.  
  
The ground vibrated with small little jerks.  
  
Scorpion?   
  
The vibrations stopped.  
  
Eskel felt the world spin and he clenched his hands into fists. He was a witcher, he had to keep it together… _Get a grip. The bombs frightened him away; need to lure him back._  
_  
_ The scent of vitriol was heavy in the air, but it wasn’t enough to cover up the stench of blood. Eskel hoped it was only his and not Scorpion’s; if he was to survive this whole mess he needed to reach a village and he’d never make it on his own, blinded as he was.  
  
Sensing the stallion’s general direction, Eskel lifted his hand and cast axii. "C’m’ere, Scor-p’n," he rasped out. He really wanted that water bottle attached to his saddle…  
  
A soft nose nuzzled his hand and Eskel breathed out in relief. Scorpion was alive! He steeled himself for the next part. He rolled over so he could get his knees under him, but the moment he did bile rose up in his throat and he had to roll back again.  
  
It was only now that he noticed an angry heat radiating from his knee, and his belly felt like a fiend had shredded it before laying a clutch of embers in it. With a shaky hand Eskel felt along his abdomen, his touch light enough to be barely pressing on the heated but intact skin. He shivered, swallowing as he suppressed the urge to gag.  
  
He was going to have to do that again…  
  
Eskel blindly felt around until he touched Scorpion and his wandering hand detected one of the stirrups hanging close to him. _Grab it, pull up, on over…_ Easier thought than done…  
  
***  
  
Eskel couldn’t remember what had happened next. One moment he’d been dizzily clinging to Scorpion’s saddle horn; a quick roaming of his free hand giving him the impression that Scorpion was all right, and the next he was in the saddle, his right leg dangling uselessly next to the empty stirrup.  
  
He’d been so relieved he would have hugged the stallion’s neck… if that wouldn’t have sent him straight back on the ground.  
  
***  
  
Despite his burning skin, Eskel could still feel the heat of the sun that had been well on its way in the sky, already making its descent. It felt warmer on his back… and it took him far too long to conclude that he needed to steer Scorpion left.  
  
Reaching for his water bottle, Eskel cursed silently, pushing back the panic bubbling up when the bottle was nowhere to be found. He needed to go back… to the village. Ask for aid. Get some water to wash out his eyes, or saline, but he needed _help_.  
  
“Go,” he gritted out.  
  
When Scorpion started walking, Eskel was forced to bend over, nausea threatening to push him from the saddle as he got jostled with each of Scorpion’s steps. He grasped the saddle’s pommel and focused on his breathing. The metal had followed him up on the horse and was still screeching in his ears…  
  
***  
  
“I remember the bombs going off, the chaos that followed,” Eskel muttered, fondling the soft fabric of the shirt he wore; it definitely wasn’t one of his. “Getting back on Scorpion…”  
  
He thought harder, willing himself to remember more of what had happened.  
  
He’d been heading north, trusting Scorpion to tread carefully.  
  
There had been touches, and someone had hushed him before picking him up and Eskel recognised now that it had been an effortless achievement for the other: Dettlaff. Suspecting that his saviour was a vampire, much like Regis, the little bits and pieces that came back to him now made much more sense.  
  
***  
  
It was dark when something touched his shoulder, startling him. _No_ , the pain in his eyes reminded him _, it wasn’t dark, he could see in the dark, remember?_ Carefully, Eskel tried to open his eyes, but there was a burning pressure all around them, keeping them forcefully shut. _  
_  
“Let me help,” a low voice close to his ear made him whip his head around and his body tense. The touch returned, a cool sensation, but there was something sharp there…  
  
Adrenalin flooding through him, instantly alert, Eskel reached for the sword on his back, hands automatically reaching for the silver one. He heard a hiss when he drew the sword in front of him, barely slicing something that was apparently _way too close to him_.  
  
“Who… are you?” He rasped, using his other hand to stabilise the sword. He could feel grass beneath him, what had happened? Where was Scorpion? “Don't come closer!”  
  
“Calm down, witcher,” the low voice rumbled.  
  
Eskel heard a rustling in front of him and tried to force his eyes open, but they stubbornly refused to cooperate.   
  
A sigh bordering on both amused and resigned at the same time came from the figure near him. “You are injured,” the voice told him, as though Eskel could possibly have missed this.  
  
Eskel felt the sneer settling on his lips, pulling at his scars, as a low growl escaped his own throat. The other didn’t say anything though, he seemed to be… waiting? For what? Swallowing dryly, Eskel lifted his sword, hoping that to the other’s eyes it didn’t look as pathetic as it felt from his end.  
  
The weight in his hands disappeared, the sword easily plucked from his feeble grip.  
  
“No witcher dies in his bed,” Vesemir told him, sounding sombre.  
  
Eskel wanted to shout at the stranger to return his sword, but his voice got caught all the way down in his chest and he bent over, coughing until his lungs seized and it all became too much for him to handle.  
  
***  
  
Eskel frowned, remembering his first meeting with the other vampire. He remembered the name now, Geralt had spoken of him: Dettlaff, the Beast of Beauclair. A higher vampire, and one that was oddly enough sensitive to silver.  
  
_Silver sensitive.  
_  
“Is Dettlaff all right?” Eskel asked, carefully tilting his head in Regis’ direction. “Remember… my sword… Geralt mentioned that-”  
  
“I am fine,” a low voice spoke, coming from his right. _Dettlaff_. “Any ill effects I suffered from your blade have long passed.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Eskel felt something gnawing at his gut. He hadn’t behaved rationally, he could have seriously hurt anyone that had dared to come to his aid. And he’d sought out aid purposefully.  
  
_Not good.  
_  
Feeling what he now recognised must have been sharp nails had triggered his defensive instincts. And witchers didn’t handle being crowded by strangers even on a good day.  
  
“For a being in your situation I believe you acted admirably self-controlled. I should have known better than to startle a witcher, a blinded one at that; and it was my decision to relieve you of your blade. I apologise,” Dettlaff said, and then there was a quiet _whoosh_ before a weight landed next to him on the mattress. “You look better than you did a few days ago.”  
  
“Days?” Eskel squeaked, barely stopping himself from flinching.  
  
“Three days,” Regis informed him. “Dettlaff…”  
  
The weight disappeared with another near-silent whoosh.  
  
“When you do that,” Eskel started, drifting off for a bit until he remembered what he’d been wanting to ask, “you turn into some kind of smoke?” He’d always been intrigued by the many forms that higher vampires, even some of the lesser ones, could take on.  
  
“Smoke?!” Dettlaff growled, clearly insulted.  
  
“More along the lines of fog, actually,” Regis butted in, calmly.  
  
“Huh.” Eskel was going to remember that. Not that it would do him any good if he ever ended up on the wrong side of one of their kind. “Can you enter water in that form?” Or would they dissolve, be swept away by the current. “Or grow, coalesce and merge with the individual water particles?” No, that didn’t make any sense…  
  
“Regis…” there was something in Dettlaff’s voice, but Eskel couldn’t pin what, exactly.  
  
“Stay still, Eskel. I’m going to touch your forehead,” Regis warned, and a moment later cool fingers glided just above the bandage. “The fever lingers.” A sigh. “I’ll be back in a moment.”  
  
Eskel waited for the sound of footsteps leading away, or another soft sound that indicated the vampire had slipped into an alternate state…  
  
“Your horse is quite skittish for a witcher horse,” Dettlaff’s voice piped up suddenly on his left side, where Regis had been just a second ago.  
  
Sneaky vampires, so Regis was already gone.  
  
“No he’s not,” Eskel objected, defending Scorpion’s honour.  
  
“The marks on your abdomen say otherwise…”  
  
Waving his hand at the vampire, Eskel lightly rested a hand over his tender belly. “Dare you to stand right next to exploding bombs.”  
  
“Why would I be concerned? I’m a-” Dettlaff trailed off.  
  
“A higher vampire,” Eskel hummed, “like Regis, I know. Ok… imagine the bombs are filled with silver particles.”  
  
He could hear the small shuddering gasp and wondered what was going through the vampire’s mind. When Dettlaff remained quiet for too long, a nasty feeling started niggling at Eskel. Now that the metal screeching in his ears finally was no more he had no trouble hearing the vampire’s heartbeat. Faster than a human’s… _That couldn’t be right._  
  
It dawned on him then…  
  
Time to distract Dettlaff. Touching was out; Eskel had tried that once when Lambert was a lot younger and it had left him with a black and blue eye. After that, Vesemir had told him to just speak softly to him should it happen again, stay calm and keep talking.  
  
“Hey Dettlaff?” Eskel asked, frustrated that he couldn’t see whether he had gained the vampire’s attention. “Thank you… For saving my life, and for taking care of Scorpion; he means a lot to me. Did you have any trouble with him?” After all, Scorpion may not be _too_ skittish, but his horse had a healthy survival instinct.  
  
“No trouble,” Dettlaff said after a moment, sounding a bit absent. “There was only the curious incident with the garkain in the night-time.”  
  
Eskel breathed in sharply. “What incident?” He demanded. Regis had said that Scorpion was fine.  
  
“The garkain did nothing,” Regis assured him. Ah, so he’d returned.  
  
“That was the curious incident,” Dettlaff continued, and Eskel could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
Eskel huffed, though he was pleased that Dettlaff seemed to have shaken off whatever had gripped him. He just hoped he hadn’t caused some nightmares to start resurfacing.  
  
“Here,” Regis spoke from right beside him.  
  
Dettlaff hummed what seemed to be an affirmation, and Eskel could feel him moving closer. Ah, signalling his moves was something Eskel very much appreciated; vampires were just too damn quiet.  
  
_Skittish_.  
  
_No, just a more or less sane witcher with a strong survival instinct._  
  
“Regis has brewed some more raven, it’ll help you heal. Drink it all.” Dettlaff pushed what felt like a small glass vial in his hand.  
  
Eskel took it from him, and after a quick sniff downed the potion in one go. “Thanks.”  
  
“Your fever should be gone after this,” Regis told him.  
  
Eskel heard light scuttling over wooden floors and a high-pitched chirrup.  
  
“One of the katakan pups,” Dettlaff explained the mystery for him, “they’ve been curious about you.”  
  
“Awesome,” Eskel whispered. Katakans were pretty intelligent, and he’d always, _always_ , tried reasoning with them first. He was so glad he’d never stumbled upon any youngsters before, but here…  
_  
_ “You’ll have a chance to meet them proper,” Regis said from near the foot of the bed all of a sudden. “Better not, pup, as you can see he’s quite hurt still.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
A high trill sounded, before tapering off into lower tones.  
  
“Perhaps in a day or two,” Regis said, “when Eskel at least can _see_ you and your siblings coming.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eskel forced out. He felt completely worn-out all of a sudden. The draw-back of healing potions: accelerated healing, but at the cost of so much of his energy.  
  
“When you wake up we’ll prepare you some hearty breakfast,” Regis promised.  
  
“Hmm,” Eskel agreed. That sounded good.  
  
“That leg will take some time for him to heal, even with your potions,” Dettlaff said, a lot quieter than before.  
  
“I know,” Regis replied just as softly, “I fear he won’t be up to any travelling for at least a week. Two perhaps, even. He mentioned he was headed towards Geralt.”  
  
“I know what you’re thinking.”  
  
“Indeed, brother. Let’s prepare.”  
  
_Interesting…_ was the final thought running through Eskel's mind before drifting off to sleep.  
  
**The end**

**Author's Note:**

> The curious incident of the garkain in the night-time is, of course, a reference to Sherlock Holmes story ‘Silver Blaze’.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! ,')


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